“Honestly. Earlier, it had been a dim and stormy day. Demonstrating no originality, March had indeed come in like a lion—a wet, angry one who blew ill winds every which way. And here I was, not home cuddling by the fire with whatever was available—a man, a cat, a book—but driving in the rain with my mother, wearing my sister’s panty hose and fulfilling social obligations that were not mine. I clutched the steering wheel and thought about the difficulty of raising parents, particularly mine, part...icularly today. My father had overreacted, overprotected, and overparented me into this pickle. Generally speaking, my father is so quiet that any woman near him (namely my mother) gets the urge to scream, simply to compensate for the sound deficit. His favorite way of interacting with the women of his family is from behind the shelter of his newspaper. All the same, this afternoon some late-blooming swashbuckler hormone kicked into his system and he suffered an attack of galloping, completely unnecessary heroism.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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